


Who shall 'scape whipping?

by OldShrewsburyian



Series: Dangerous Ends [4]
Category: The Hour
Genre: Coffee, Gen, Post-Canon, Shakespeare Quotations, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9842762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldShrewsburyian/pseuds/OldShrewsburyian
Summary: Randall and Lix confront at least one aspect of the future. They are marginally less prickly and masochistic than might ordinarily be expected.





	

It is still early when Brown’s familiar shadow, preceding him, wavers skeletally on her threshold.

“May I come in?”

“Mm.” Lix doesn’t interrupt her work while he makes his tour of inspection around the room. Eventually, he settles by the desk, to take up what she thinks of as fidgeting.

“For God’s sake, Randall, stop fussing with my papers.”

The long-fingered hands are stilled. “I know. You have a system.” There is a moment’s silence; she waits to hear what he has come to say. “Coffee?”

“If you like. The café in the Uxbridge Road?” 

“Fine.”

“I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

Rightly interpreting this, he leaves her, and is waiting in the café when she arrives. The waitress puts down two coffee cups and a pair of fruit buns half a minute later.

Lix sips the coffee before speaking. “What have we done to deserve buns, Randall?”

He smiles thinly. “Use every man after his desert…” He puts butter on the bun before continuing. “I’ve been to see the boy.”

“Ah.”

“Mr. Lyon, I should say. No matter.” He pauses again. “I told him we wanted him back.”

“Good.”

He looks up. “You think so? —Forgive me; of course you do.”

Lix lights a cigarette, blowing away the need for an apology in the first cloud of smoke. “And? What’s wrong?”

He sighs. “It’s not that he refused. His refusal I would have accepted. He said he would give the offer his consideration.” He breaks another piece off the bun. “He seemed lost, fearful—worse, resigned. I thought, _The youth has gone out of him…_ and yet, it’s easier than ever to think of him as a mere boy.” They are silent while the waitress refills their coffee cups. 

“You’re not sleeping,” she says. It is not a question.

“No.” She watches him swallow.

“His blood isn’t on our hands, Randall.” If there is a slight emphasis on the first word, he does not visibly respond to it. Savagely she stubs out her cigarette. “We’ve all taken risks; it’s what we do. But you think he no longer sees it that way.”

“You know him better. I wanted your advice.”

Lix breaks her bun down the center. “I don’t know what will happen to him if he decides he can’t be a journalist. I’ve always found such a decision more frightening than its alternative. Obviously.” She takes a swig of the hot, bitter coffee as though it were whisky. “But he might be all right. I’m not sure it’s ever been an end in itself, for him. It’s the place he applies himself: the intellect, the charm, the ridiculous sense of responsibility. But I do think—I really do think—that he might survive without it. And _The Hour_ without him; God knows I love him, but he’s like dynamite now, Randall. You must see that. We’re as likely to blow ourselves up as light a fire under anyone else.”

“But to abandon him might be more dangerous—even leaving conscience out of the question.”

“We won’t. I can promise you that. I don’t think we could. Sissy treats him like a brother. He’s forged a curious friendship with Hector despite being a fairly consistent thorn in his side. And I have drunk that boy under his desk, and had him under me on a bed, and remember both as thoroughly enjoyable experiences.” Lix drains her cup. 

He smiles, surprising her. “Extraordinary.”

“If you like to think of it that way.” She puts down her shilling. “And you must have noticed him with Bel.”

“ ‘I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thine eyes.’ ”

“What?”

“…Nothing. _Much Ado About Nothing_.”

“Right.”

“Thank you for coming out. It’s good—to know he’s befriended.”

“Absolutely.” She rises, shrugs into her coat. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I thought you’d want to precede me.”

“Don’t be so scrupulous,” says Lix, against her own cautious inclination. “Come along.”

She is a little surprised to find that, on the street, no one looks at them twice.


End file.
